


moor krad eht ni lecher

by theboykingofhell



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5877904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboykingofhell/pseuds/theboykingofhell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan can only remember the night Rachel died in nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	moor krad eht ni lecher

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the theories/implications that: Nathan did not kill Rachel but was instead manipulated into thinking he did by the real killer Jefferson, Nathan is a sexual abuse survivor and was being groomed by Mr. Jefferson, and that their relationship had a sexual component to it. All of the above is implied and referenced to but is never written explicitly in the fic.

 

There’s a weight.

He wakes up.

There’s a weight, resting against his body. It’s heavy.

He wakes up.

There’s a weight, resting against his body. It’s heavy and light at the same time, soft wisps of hair tickling across the thin fabric of his clothes. He couldn’t breathe right with this weight on him. He couldn’t move to remove it.

He wakes up.

He couldn’t move. His body felt chained to the floor (ground?) under him. His vision swam. From a million miles away, he could feel an ant crawl across his palm. His fingers don’t even twitch at the feeling.

He wakes up.

His vision swam. His eyes refused to focus, drifting to the left, to the right, the world dancing around in slow, dizzy circles. He felt sick. He wanted it to stop. A light flashed in front of him.

He wakes up.

A light flashed in front of him.

He wakes up.

A light flashed in front of him, followed by another, clicking in a rapid, excited fervor. There’s a voice, humming in the distance, and even locked in a dreamworld he could sense the praises in the words he could just barely make out. 

“Beautiful... absolutely beautiful.”

He wakes up.

He called him beautiful - them, beautiful. Together. They’re together, captured into a masterpiece of art that he thought was _beautiful_. If he could move the muscles of his face, he would smile.

He wakes up.

He was alone, suddenly, a mound of fresh dirt beside him and--

He wakes up.

“Stupid _bitch--”_

He can’t wake up.

“You dumb fucking _cunt_ , no-... No, no, not this time, oh, you think you’re so _cute_. This will teach you... Yes, try and fight this off.“

He _can’t wake up._

“Nathan,” Mark Jefferson purred, and Nathan shivered, marveling at the way Jefferson could make a razor slitting him open from abused groin to mouth feel sensual. “Why don’t you come and show this _utter amateur_  how it’s done.”

And he didn’t want to but there was something still floating in his blood that made his body limp, his limbs malleable, and Mr. Jefferson’s words pulled his veins from under his skin and tugged them upwards towards the sky, guiding him forward, gentle and kind. He didn’t want to, but there was the praise he’d get after, the smile, the touch, the absence of pain. And she wouldn’t know, she wouldn’t remember... she would forgive him when he couldn’t forgive himself... right?

He didn’t know what was right anymore. But as the needle slipped its way into his flesh and he caught the heat of her glare, he could feel the very beginnings of something about to go terribly wrong...

... and then he woke up. 

And she was gone.

And he wakes up. With a weight in his chest, one that was slowly crushing him into the bed, one that was making his rib-cage crack and his insides bleed rot into the rest of his broken, putrid body. One that reeked of vomit, and dirt, and maggot-ridden meat, and his teacher’s cologne. One unlike the cold, doll-like stillness of her corpse, but boiling, writhing, destroying him by the second.

Nathan sits up and gasps, his body rattling with tremors, his fingers digging into his sheets, his hair, his arms, his skin. A nightmare. Life is a nightmare, and he says it under his breath in a high-pitched hiss, slurred by the spasms rocking through him. If it’s day, night, one date or the other, he doesn’t know, doesn’t care anymore because every moment that passed was either a dream, or a nightmare, or a memory, and he’s long since lost the ability to tell the difference. He tries to wake up. He can’t.


End file.
